


Best Laid Plans

by CreateImagineWrite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Established Relationship, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:11:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4133619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreateImagineWrite/pseuds/CreateImagineWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn’t intended to be fully clothed with Harry naked at this point, or to have just made him take an antidote to a poison or have had to Incarcerus him to the bed. But they’ve never had a very normal relationship anyways. And damn him if he’s going to let Ginevra Weasley get in the way of him marrying this man. Fourshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy gives the sauce on the stove a warning glare, daring it to burn. He isn’t one to often do the cooking – Harry is so much better at it – but when he does, he makes sure it is perfect. Except for that one time when he accidentally melted the stovetop. But they don’t talk about that. 

Harry’s been at the Weasley’s all afternoon. It’s someone or other’s birthday, and they’re doing a luncheon. Draco doesn’t remember whose birthday it is, but he knows that Harry will come back grumpy and complaining about Molly trying to set him up with Ginny and about Ron making jealous comments about Harry’s recent promotion in the Auror department. Why Harry _wants_ to be adopted into such an annoying family, Draco will never know. But if Harry’s complaining, it will not be about this sauce. Because this sauce is perfect. 

He gives it a sterner glare, just in case. After all, it is somewhat his fault that Harry still has to endure Molly Weasley’s endless matchmaking. In the two years or so they’ve been together, he still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell his parents that he’s not remotely interested in the pretty pureblood girls they keep shoving into his lap, and so their relationship has remained a secret, something which has become nearly intolerable for Harry.

Tonight though, tonight that’s going to end. Two weeks ago, his parents had begun setting up an arranged marriage with the Greengrass girl, and this isn’t one he’s going to be able to brush off. He gives a quick thought to the engagement ring sitting in their bedside table, which he put there mere hours ago, and takes a deep breath. 

He’s going to marry this man. 

And he’s going to cast a Severing Charm at Ginevra Weasley’s hands if she ever tries to touch him again. And possibly Molly’s as well, if she keeps up with this matchmaking nonsense. Harry is _his_.

The sauce is done, and, having been adequately threatened by Draco’s glare, not burnt. There are candles floating above the breakfast bar table they rarely use, an excellent vintage of white wine cooling in an ice bucket, the place settings are perfected to the greatest extent of his pureblood education, and the only thing missing is one Harry Potter.

He ladles the sauce carefully onto the rotini noodles, wipes a stray droplet from the edge of the plate, scatters on the chicken and parsley in what he hopes is an artful fashion, and casts two quick Warming Charms to keep the plates at the right temperature. 

Perfect. He glances at the clock, a replica of the one in Molly Weasley’s house, which even Draco will admit is very useful, even if it was invented by a Weasley. And right on –

The crack of Apparition sounds right outside Grimmauld’s front door. Excellent. He pulls off the apron, makes sure his shirt collar is straight – Harry loves it when he wears Muggle clothes, weirdo that he is – and grins as the wards signal Harry’s entry into the house.

“Hey,” he greets, smiling as a familiar mop of brunet hair appears in the kitchen doorway. “How was –”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because he’s being shoved up against the counter and snogged within an inch of his life. 

Teeth clack somewhat painfully against his, and then a hand tangles in his hair, there’s a quick nip to his bottom lip, and he’s moaning into it before he’s had a chance to think. Salazar, Harry knows how to kiss. The moan lets a tongue invade his mouth, flicking out to touch his, and he can’t even bring himself to care about the edge of countertop digging into his lower back, not with Harry’s familiar taste and scent invading his senses. He must’ve been playing Quidditch, because the scent is stronger than normal from exertion. A hand settles in against his back, protecting it from the counter edge, and the kiss turns from frantic to passionate, slow and deep.

He eventually shoves a hand against the brunet’s chest so he can get a chance to breathe, and the other man’s mouth moves to his neck instead, sucking delicious pressure against his jawline.

“Do I even get a hello?” Draco gasps out, feeling a knee nudge its way between his thighs. 

Harry’s only response is a rather possessive sounding growl against his collarbone. 

“A – and should I be worried that hanging out with the Weaselette – Oh God, Harry – has made you this horny?” 

That earns him a harsh bite to his neck, above where he could hide it with a scarf, and then the knee between his legs gives a sharp roll forward, and he moans. Harry’s tongue laves against his neck, soothing the bite, and then he moves back to Draco’s lips.

“Need you,” he breathes, between kisses, pressing against him more firmly. Draco can feel the evidence of his lover’s arousal pressing against his thigh. 

“God,” the blond moans, breathless. 

Then he catches sight of the plates of food over Harry’s shoulder, and something niggles in his memory. “Wait,” he says, trying to fend off Harry’s hands as one frees his shirt from his trousers and starts roaming over his torso. “This isn’t how –”

Harry cuts him off with a kiss, and follows it up by rubbing the pad of one of his thumbs over Draco’s nipple, rendering him incoherent. Somewhere between the rolls of Harry’s hips against his, his shirt gets lost on the kitchen floor. 

“Wait,” Draco makes another attempt. “I did have a plan for –”

“Need you,” Harry says again, undoing the zip on the blond’s trousers. “Now.”

Draco gives up. “God, yes.”

Harry apparently takes that as permission to literally strip Draco’s trousers off and then throws the blond over his shoulder.

“Hey!” The former Slytherin manages, wrapping his fingers tightly around one of his partner’s biceps. “I am not a sack of potatoes, Potter!”

The former Gryffindor doesn’t pay him the slightest bit of attention, carrying him into their bedroom – completely ignoring the trail of rose petals leading up to it, and almost throws him into their bed, directly into the veritable garden of petals spread across it. 

“Merlin,” Draco moans, as Harry strips out of his own clothes and straddles him. “When did you turn into such a troll?”

The brunet responds by pressing a series of kisses from his jawline down to his hipbone, lingering on his chest until Draco’s nipples are pebbling in the cold bedroom air. The attention has the blond practically melting into the mattress, barely noticing the relief as his pants are stripped from his body and abandoned. 

And then his cock is being surrounded in blissful heat, and Draco loses his ability to think at all. Harry’s hands roam from his thighs up to his nipples and then back down, restless and eager, and he makes a humming noise in his throat that has Draco arching off the bed and whimpering in pleasure. 

“Harry!” He moans as deft fingertips find his nipple again. “If you keep that up – Oh, God – this is going to be over really –”

The brunet pulls off, lips flushed an obscene shade of red, and crawls up to devour Draco’s mouth instead.

“Where did this – Ah! – come from, anyways?” Draco manages, as his partner gets distracted sucking on his jawbone again. 

“Need you,” Harry growls, for the third time, hand snaking between the blond’s thighs to press familiar fingers just against his perineum, other hand reaching for the bedside table.

“Is that all – for Merlin’s sake, hurry up – you can say?”

Harry’s fingers come back, slick and a bit cold, and he gives Draco’s collarbone a sharp nip, breathing, again, “Need you.”

Then a fingertip presses exactly where Draco wants it to and he completely forgets the snarky comment he was going to say about Harry’s vocabulary during sex. 

He’s still a bit loose from when Harry had taken him in the shower this morning, and when the brunet’s finger slides right in and curls unerringly into Draco’s prostrate, he doesn’t have the energy to care about the sound that escapes his lips. Teeth scrape teasingly against his hip bone, followed by a peppering of kisses, and when the second digit slides in next to the first, Draco rolls back to meet it.

“Oh, God. For fuck’s sake, hurry up and get in me, Potter!” 

A low chuckle rumbles against his hip, but Harry just adds a third finger, spending several minutes pressing not quite where Draco wants the pressure to be, until the blond makes a desperate noise and plunges a hand into the head of hair near his hip. “More,” he pants, breathlessly. “Harry.”

His lover presses one last kiss to the series of blooming hickeys on his hip bone and then moves up and throws one of Draco’s legs over his shoulder. The removal of his fingers has Draco keening unhappily, hooking his other leg around Harry’s waist, but then the other man is pressing in, and up, and the delicious burn has Draco moaning. “Oh, God, right there! Harry!”

The brunet contorts himself to press a bruising kiss against Draco’s lips, and then the blond has to wrap his fingers around the slats in the headboard to keep himself in place while he’s fucked into the mattress. The scent of Harry is overwhelming even the scent of the copious rose petals, and the constant unerring pressure against his prostrate has him blurting out incomprehensible gibberish between his moans.

“Fuck. Harry, I’m so –”

A sharp jab against his prostrate has him seeing stars, and then Harry lifts his other leg up over his shoulder and goes impossibly, amazingly deep, and Draco nearly comes without even being touched.

The brunet, panting, with drops of sweat dripping down his chest, turns to press a kiss against his lover’s calf. “Need you. Dray. Need you. Come on.”

“Har – Ah! – Harry!”

The Auror’s pupils are blown wide with lust as they stare into his, and that image is what finally sets Draco off, white pleasure blazing through him like a particularly well-cast Incendio. 

The sound Harry makes as Draco contracts around him is nearly inhuman, and it takes three thrusts before he’s nearly bending his lover in half so he can kiss him soundly while he finds his own pleasure. The kiss only lasts a few seconds, uncoordinated, a mere press of lips to lips, and then Draco can’t find the energy to keep his legs on Harry’s shoulders and they collapse into the mattress. 

Harry buries his face in Draco’s neck, not bothering to pull out, not carrying about the drying stickiness between them, and presses a series of barely-there kisses into the skin behind his lover’s ear. 

Draco lets him for a minute, lethargic, and then makes a whining noise and shoves a weak hand against Harry’s chest, until the brunet, grumbling, pulls out and rolls off onto his front, leaving one arm thrown possessively over his lover’s midriff. The blond stretches, pleased at the well-used feeling of his muscles and with the dirty feeling of his lover’s come dripping out of him. “Mmmm.”

Harry makes an answering noise into the pillow, and then appears to summon the energy to turn his head and press a kiss to the blond’s shoulder. 

They bask in the afterglow for a minute, and then Draco cuddles closer and throws a thigh overtop of Harry’s. “You going to tell me what that was about?”

The brunet makes an incoherent noise, and Draco manages a chuckle, before Harry rolls onto his side and slots himself against the blond’s hip, nose buried in his neck. 

“Not that I mind it when you throw me into bed, but a little warning – ” He frowned. “Wait. Harry. Are you still –”

There’s a telling hardness pressed up against Draco’s hip, and given that there is also definitely come dripping out of his arse… “Harry. Harry, look at me.”

The brunet makes another grumbling noise and deigns to remove his face from the crook of Draco’s neck. 

“Bloody hell,” Draco swears.

Because Harry has green eyes. But at the moment, they aren’t green. The tiny bit of iris visible around his blown pupils is _violet_. 

“Fuck. Harry. Harry, I need you to get up.” 

The brunet makes an unhappy noise and rolls his hips against Draco’s thigh. “Need you, Dray.”

“No, no, you really don’t.” He pulls himself away to the edge of the bed, ignoring the twinge in his lower back and the whining noise his lover makes. A hand grasps at his and he pulls away. 

“Dray!”

“No. Fuck. Harry. You need a lust potion antidote.” He gets up and off the bed. “Fuck.”

Harry just stares at him, brow furrowed. “But Dray –”

“I should’ve known. You never call me Dray. Who the bloody hell gave you a lust potion, Harry? Fuck.”

“Dray –” He reaches out, and Draco snatches his hand back as soon as they touch

And Harry looks so confused, and abandoned, and Draco nearly gets back in bed. “No, love, it’s alright. I just – I need to get an antidote.”

“But I –” The brunet looks like he wants to reach out again. “Dray. I _need_ you.”

“I know. Fuck. Love, I know.” He pulls on the nearest pair of trousers, which are Harry’s. “I love you. But I can’t – it’s… Fuck, Harry, it’s practically rape.”

“But I want –”

“You don’t know what you want, love. It’s okay. Just – just stay there, okay?” He spins around and finds a shirt – also Harry’s. Before he can pull it on, an arm wraps around his waist, and Draco has to shut his eyes at how unfair it is. He pushes the arm away from him. “No.”

Harry steps back like he’s been slapped.

“I’m sorry,” Draco says, feeling on the verge of tears. “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t follow me.” He takes a step towards the door, and Harry follows. “Fuck. No, Harry. You need to stay there.” Harry just takes another step towards him, and then Draco catches sight of Harry’s wand, sitting on the dresser, apparently cast aside in their struggle to get to the bed. 

The holly wand fits easily into his hand – ever since Harry had taken his hawthorn one during the war, their wands have been practically interchangeable – but pointing it at Harry is not nearly as easy. 

“Fuck. _Incarcerus_.” Ropes snake out and bind Harry to the bed, and most definitely not in the sexy way. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back. I love you.”

The sound Harry makes as he leaves the room nearly breaks his heart in half. 

Flooing to St. Mungo’s seems to take entirely too long, and he steps through the fireplace into the staff room with relief. Seamus Finnegan is sprawled across one of the couches, eating a sandwich.

“Hey! Malfoy! Don’t you have today off?”

“I need a lust potion antidote,” Draco blurts out. “Now.”

“What?” Seamus blinks at him. 

“Someone’s given Potter a lust potion.”

The other Healer takes in the ruffled state of the blond’s hair and the haphazardly worn clothing and says, “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, try the Sector Two potion supply. I think I saw some earlier.”

“Thanks,” Draco shouts over his shoulder, already sprinting down the hall. 

There is, indeed, a lust potion antidote in the supply, and he has it in hand and is back to the Floo in what is probably a world record. As he throws the powder into the flames, Seamus finally seems to catch up. “Wait, if Harry’s the one with the lust potion, why do you look like – ”

Draco is very glad that the flames whisk him away before he has to answer that question.

He’s in their bedroom and removing the Incarcerus just as fast. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He wipes the tears from Harry’s cheeks, settling into his lap. “I’m back, it’s okay.”

“Dray,” his lover croaks out. 

“I need you to take this. It’ll make you feel better.”

“But –”

“Please, love.”

Harry drinks the potion. It only takes a couple seconds to work, and then the purple is fading back to green, his pupils are shrinking back to normal, and the hardness that had been pressing up against Draco’s thigh is starting to disappear. 

The blond Healer recorks the vial and sets it on the floor, before wrapping both arms tightly around Harry’s shoulders, pressing little kisses against his jaw. 

For a second, Harry doesn’t respond, arms lax at his sides. And then: “Wh – What happened?”

Draco presses another kiss to the skin below his jaw. “Someone gave you a lust potion.”

“What?” His tone is bewildered, and his pupils are still blown a bit too wide.

“A lust potion, love. You jumped me the second you got home.”

His lover’s brow furrows, a hand reaching up to rub against Draco’s spine. “But who –”

In the frantic race to find the antidote, that isn’t a question that Draco’s spent much time dwelling on, but he certainly does now. For a moment, he’s silent, the first vestiges of anger sparking in his stomach. “Love,” he says, quietly. “You’ve been at the Weasleys all day.”

“But – they wouldn’t –”

He trails off, obviously not believing himself. Draco hugs him tighter.

“No,” Harry starts, beginning to look upset, rather than confused. “Why would –”

The blond shuts his eyes, jaw clenching. This is not going to be fun. “Harry, I’m willing to bet one of them also took a fertility potion.”

“What – why –” Harry stares at him, lips twisting. “Ginny?” 

“I’ve – I’ve heard of pureblood girls doing that, Harry, love. Father used to warn me.”

“But why would they –”

Draco doesn’t need to answer. Harry’s lips twist further, and he barks out a mirthless laugh.

“Give me a lust potion, and take a fertility potion, so I – ”

“Get her pregnant,” Draco finishes, gently carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. “And have to marry her.”

“That’s – God, Draco, are you – are you sure?”

The blond looks at him, upset on his behalf. “I’m sorry, love. But there’s no one else who gave you that potion. And it was definitely a lust potion. I’m a Healer. I had a case of it last week.”

Harry stares at him, tear tracks from before the antidote still visible on his cheeks. “They left us alone,” he recalls, with dawning realization. “Me and Ginny. And she – she got me a Butterbeer. And I felt – I felt strange. I wanted –”

“Sex,” Draco finishes.

“No, no, I wanted – I wanted _you_.” The hand on Draco’s back reels him in closer and Harry rests their foreheads together.

A smile tugs at Draco’s lips. “Probably not what she was going for.”

“No – I –” The reality is starting to hit him. “She gave me a lust potion. Draco. That’s –” His face crumples, and his lover tugs him forward, pressing kisses against his cheekbone, his forehead, his lips.

“I know. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.” 

Harry makes a choked sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Did I – did I hurt you?” 

That would be what he’d think of. “No, no, love. It was fine. More than fine. I’d gladly do it again, without the potion. You didn’t hurt me.”

“Are you –”

“I’m sure.”

Harry’s hands roam over him, like they’re checking for injury despite Draco’s assurances, and then his hand stops, fingers plucking at something.

“What is –”

Harry pulls back, fingers closed around a small object. Draco focusses on it, takes in the soft, red roundness, and memories of his plans for the night rush back. 

“Is this a rose petal?” Harry asks, confused. He glances around the room, takes in the veritable garden of rose petals scattered across the hall, the bed, out into the hallway. “What’s – what’s going on?”

“This – this isn’t exactly how I planned tonight going,” Draco sighs. He wonders if the Warming Charm on the food has faded. Or the Cooling Charm on the wine.

“Planned?” Harry asks, looking bewilderedly at the rose petal in his fingers.

“We were supposed to have dinner first. I hadn’t exactly planned for –” _You to get poisoned by one of your adopted family members_ , Draco thinks.

“I am – confused,” Harry says, focussing on him.

Draco sighs again. Best laid plans and all that. He gets up from Harry’s lap, and strides over to the bedside table, pulls out a tiny little box and wraps it in his hand to hide it. He turns back, running a hand through his hair. 

“Harry – I – Well, this was supposed to start with dinner and dessert – I made a pie you know, you should be very proud of me – but – well. I should’ve remember that nothing ever goes exactly to plan with you.”

“Draco, what are you –”

Draco gets down on one knee. He hadn’t intended to be fully clothed with Harry naked at this point, or to have just made him take an antidote to a poison or have had to Incarcerus him to the bed. But they’ve never had a very normal relationship anyways. And damn him if he’s going to let Ginevra Weasley get in the way of him marrying this man.

“Harry James Potter –”

Dawning comprehension floods Harry’s cheekbones red. “Draco, are you –”

“Don’t interrupt me, Potter!” Draco snaps, feeling his own blush flood his cheeks. 

The brunet bites his lips and smiles, and he’s gorgeous, even with his eyes a little red from crying, the red flush to his cheeks making his green eyes look even more emerald.

“Harry James Potter, I know we didn’t meet on the best of terms, and I know that during school, I did a lot of things that many people would find unforgivable. But I know you’ve forgiven them.” He glances up, and Harry smiles just a little wider. “The last two years have been the best of my entire life. And I know that us being a secret has been horrible for you, and I am sorry, love, for making you wait this long. But I promise you I’m done waiting. I love you. I want the world to know.” He uncurls his fingers from around the box in his hand, gently unclasps it to reveal the engagement band within. “So if you could see your way to forgiving me for the wait, Harry, I want to marry you. Properly. And I hadn’t meant to do this after forcing you to drink lust potion antidote. But. Harry James Potter, will you marry me?”

He looks up, and his naked lover makes a somewhat incoherent sound.

“Harry?” Draco asks, a bit worried.

“Yes, yes, you git,” Harry gasps out, voice somewhere between laughing and crying. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

“Oh,” Draco says, relieved. “Good. That’s –”

Harry cuts him off with a kiss, nearly tumbling them both to the floor, and then Draco’s maneuvering the ring carefully onto his finger, and God, something about the band on Harry’s hand makes something monstrous settle in and start purring in Draco’s chest. They kiss until they’re breathless, Harry on top of him so he’s cutting off the circulation to Draco’s legs, and then pull apart, foreheads resting together. Draco runs a restless, possessive hand over the ring that adorns his lover’s – _fiancé’s_ – finger, and then squeezes his eyes shut as reality presses back in.

“Harry… you were given a lust potion. We need to –”

“I know,” Harry cuts him off. “I know. But can I – can I just have this? Just for tonight? We can – tomorrow, we can –”

“Tomorrow,” Draco sighs, pushing the anger and worry from his mind. “Alright – tomorrow.” He presses a kiss to Harry’s lips. “Let’s just – I suppose it’ll be a celebratory dinner?” 

Harry laughs, though it sounds a bit too close to a sob. “Yes.”

And Draco doesn’t have the heart to refuse him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry’s still asleep the next morning when Draco runs a hand through his hair and glances at the clock. It’s Harry’s and his day off – another reason he’d chosen yesterday to propose, and given the effects of the typical lust potion antidote, Harry is not going to wake naturally for a while. There’s a reason lust potions are illegal. They’re only a few ingredients from poison. Change a few steps and you end up with the Draught of Living Death. 

He sighs. He’d rather been hoping for a more pleasurable day that what is going to happen now. He cards a hand carefully through Harry’s hair, smiling at the sleepy murmur it earns him.

“Harry, love, you need to wake up.”

The murmur turns to more of a grumble, and then sleepy green eyes blink at him. 

“Wa’time‘s it?” Harry mumbles.

“Fairly late, love.” It’s a good three hours past their usual wake up time. 

“Tired,” the brunet yawns.

“I know,” the Healer says, gently brushing his hair from his face. “But we need to go to St. Mungo’s. I put it off because I could monitor you, but you need to be given a proper scan.”

“Does it have to be now?” 

“I just checked your vitals, and I don’t like the shade of your magical core.”

Harry blinks at him, lips sets into a tired, grumpy line.

“Please, Harry. Lust potions aren’t something to take lightly.”

“A’right,” Harry grumbles, letting Draco carefully maneuver him off the bed and spell him into a set of robes. He has trouble standing, and the Healer ends up half-carrying him to the Floo. 

He takes him through to the Floo reserved for Auror emergencies – knowing that the general waiting line will bring far too much attention to them – and the mediwitch who’s organizing a set of Auror medical files in a nearby cabinet startles.

“Merlin! Healer Malfoy. Wait – is that – is he alright?”

“Lust potioning,” Draco explains succinctly. “Can you get me Healer Wenlock?”

“Of course,” the mediwitch squeaks, and hurries out.

“Tired,” Harry mumbles, burying his face against Draco’s neck. The Healer gently scrubs his fingers against the brunet’s scalp.

“I know, love. I know.”

Healer Wenlock strides into the room. He’s a tall man, with rather severe eyebrows, but he’s rather well known around St. Mungo’s for his bedside manner and expertise in potions accidents. 

“How long since the potion was consumed?” He snaps, without preamble.

Draco winces a bit internally. “Over fourteen hours, sir.”

Wenlock raises his eyebrows. “And you’ve just brought him in now?” His tone was accusing.

“It was… a unique situation, sir. I administered the antidote and monitored him extensively. I’ve brought him in now because his magical core is showing signs of weakening.”

Harry makes a soft sound into the skin of Draco’s neck, and that distracts the elder Healer from whatever he was going to say. 

“Mr. Potter. Can you look at me?” His tone is much softer.

Harry does, and Wenlock carefully tilts his head to look at his eyes. “Slight violet tint to the iris. The brewer likely overdid the valerian root. No, keep your eyes open for me, Mr. Potter. Neston,” he addressed the mediwitch. “Prepare a room. We’ll need an infusion of dandelion root to offset the effects. Malfoy, did he engage in any sexual activity prior to the administration of the antidote?”

“Yes,” Draco says, trying not to wince.

“A knotgrass and mistletoe berry draught as well, Neston,” he calls after the mediwitch. “If you were on duty while this occurred, I will have to write you up, Malfoy. If you even suspected the potion was improperly brewed –”

“I would have brought him in immediately. And it was a unique situation. Neither of us were on duty, Wenlock.”

The Healer glared at him sharply, but seemed to accept the statement. “Alright, Mr. Potter. We’re going to have you feeling better in no time.” They gently assist the Auror into the room Neston had begun preparing, but the bed proves more difficult.

“Dray,” Harry slurs, as his lover gently pries him from his side and pushes him carefully down onto the bed. “I don’t –” His hand fists stubbornly in the front of Draco’s robes.

“I know. I know, love. Just lie down.” 

Harry does, blinking lethargically. Healer Wenlock, in his favour, doesn’t even blink at the endearment, flourishing his wand to cast a diagnostic spell. 

“You’ve caught the weakening in his core remarkably early, Malfoy. I’d say the antidote started failing only ten, fifteen minutes ago?”

“Eleven,” Draco states, gently uncurling Harry’s fingers from his robes and lacing their hands together instead, the diagnostic charm he’d cast on Harry before they went to bed still active in the back of his mind.

“Dray,” Harry breathes. “I feel –”

“I know. Shh, it’s okay.”

The mediwitch bustles back into the room, two vials of potions in hand. “Infusion of dandelion and a knotgrass and mistletoe berry draught, sir.”

“Thank you, Neston,” the Healer says, taking the sunny-yellow vial with a quick glance up from his diagnostic spell. “Now, Mr. Potter, I’m going to need you to keep your eyes open for me, alright? Just look at Mr. Malfoy. That’s it.”

Using a tiny dropper, the potion is carefully dripped onto Harry’s irises. The brunet closes his eyes firmly, shaking his head as if dispelling water from his ears, and then looks back up at Draco, eyes glowing a strange orange before fading back to blessedly violet-free green. The Healer is already ladling a dose of the other mixture into a dosage cup, and then tilts it against Harry’s lips.

“Can you drink that for me, Mr. Potter?” 

Harry makes a whining noise, blinking rapidly.

“Come on, love. That’s it,” Draco murmurs. Harry drinks it, despite the awful flavour that Draco knows always comes with a mistletoe draught, and then settles into the bed, breathing starting to slow. Healer Wenlock straightens.

“You can sleep now, Mr. Potter.” They both watch for a moment as Harry drifts off, helped by the dandelion infusion, and then the elder Healer turns, taking a quick glance at his and Harry’s entwined hands.

“He should be fine. I’ll want him under observation for the next two days, to ensure that there was not also a miscalculation on the part of the brewer in regards to the wormwood infusion. You do understand I will need to report this to the Aurors. Lust potions are not to be taken lightly, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I can assure you that I want the person who dosed him apprehended, sir,” Draco says, Ginny Weasley’s face flashing in his mind. To not only give Harry a lust potion, but one that was improperly brewed? She would be lucky if he didn’t murder her.

The Healer regards him solemnly. “I should hope so. My diagnostic charm will alert either myself or the active Healer if anything in his condition changes. I shall report this to the Aurors when I have a spare minute. Can I trust you to be available to answer questions?” 

“Of course.” 

Healer Wenlock inclines his head, and turns to leave the room. As he reaches the doorway, he turns back, with a quick smile. “Ah, and Healer Malfoy, congratulations on your engagement.” He winks, and then he’s gone.

Draco smiles, glancing at the band adorning Harry’s finger, and doesn’t bother removing his own diagnostic charm, despite its irrelevance given Healer Wenlock’s. If Harry’s condition changes, he wants to know immediately. 

It is a few hours later that someone knocks on the door, and the mediwitch from before looks in. “Healer Malfoy? I just wanted to let you know that the Aurors have arrived.”

“Thank you.” 

It doesn’t surprise him that Weasley is the first through the door. For a second, they stare at each other, and then: “What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?!” Then the redhead catches sight of their entwined hands, and Draco is being literally torn out of his seat and shoved away from the bed.

“What did you do to him?!” There’s a wand far too close to Draco’s throat.

“Weasley!” A second voice barks, and a different Auror, an older one, is in the room. “Control yourself!”

“But he’s –”

“Ron?” A sleepy voice interjects into the fray. 

“Harry!” Weasley says, distracted. 

“Hey,” Harry murmurs. “What’s – where’s Dray?”

“Right here, Harry,” Draco says, taking a step closer to the bed. 

“Stay away from him!” Ron says, and the wand is pointed at him again. 

“Ron,” Harry says, struggling to sit up. Draco’s diagnostic charm spikes slightly. “Ron, stop it. Leave him alone.” 

“Harry, lie back down,” Draco says, frowning. The dandelion infusion will be in his system for at least several more hours, and Harry doesn’t have the energy to lose. Thankfully, sitting up proves too much, and the brunet collapses back into the pillows.

“You stay back!” Ron growls at him, glaring.

“Leave him alone!” Harry growls back, with a much fiercer glare.

The redheaded Auror blinks at him, wand dropping. “But – Harry, he’s done something to you.”

“He hasn’t done anything to me!”

Draco does _not_ like the spikes in the diagnostics charm. “Harry –”

“What is going on here?” Healer Wenlock suddenly interjects, striding through the door. “You!” He points at Ron. “Put that wand down. I will not have you upsetting my patient!”

“Weasley,” the other Auror says, voice firm and decidedly displeased. 

Ron lowers his wand, though his glare doesn’t leave Draco. 

“Healer Malfoy,” Wenlock says, waving his wand over Harry’s prone form. “If you could instruct mediwizard Neston to fetch a Calming Draught?”

“No,” Harry says. “No, it’s alright. I just need – Draco?” He reaches out a hand.

Ron’s fingers go white on his wand, but the other Auror’s glare seems sufficient to keep him in place as Draco pulls the bedside chair back upright and takes Harry’s hand. His diagnostic stops spiking, and Healer Wenlock grunts in a satisfied sort of way, before straightening and staring at the Aurors, eyebrows drawn. 

“Just what is going on here?”

“Malfoy’s done something to Harry!” Ron accuses.

Healer Wenlock stares at him. “Mr. Potter has been subjected to a poorly made lust potion. Mr. Malfoy has been instrumental in his recovery.”

“You gave him a lust potion?!” Ron shouts, turning his wand back on Draco.

“Expelliarmus!” 

A second later, the older Auror is holding Ron’s wand. “Weasley,” he says, voice tight. “Leave the room.” 

“What?” Ron stares at him. “No, give me back my wand.”

“Leave the room. Now.”

Ron stares at him, not moving, so the Auror reaches out and forcibly pushes him out of the room, shoves his wand back into his hand with a hissed, “Keep that bloody well holstered, Weasley,” and closes the door.

For a moment, the four occupants are silent. 

Then: “Auror Potter,” the Auror greets. “Healer Malfoy.”

“Auror Daniels,” Harry inclines his head, fingers tight around Draco’s. 

“Apologies, Healer Wenlock.” 

The older Healer gives the Auror a sharp glare. “Just see to it that it doesn’t happen again. I shall have security remove Auror Weasley.” He leaves the three of them to it, closing the door on Ron’s angry voice.

“Let’s try that again,” Auror Daniels says, with a wry smile. “If you could start from the beginning?”

Harry relays what happened to him, and they carefully skip over the more intimate encounters before Draco noticed the lust potion symptoms. 

“Ginny Weasley,” Daniels sighs when they’ve finished, looking down at his hands. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Harry replies, voice tight.

“Well, I’ll have her brought in for questioning, Harry, but Weasley’s not going to like it.”

“He doesn’t have to like it,” Draco snaps, gentling rubbing a circle against Harry’s thumb. “Lust potions are illegal.”

“That they are,” Daniels says. “Healer Malfoy, would you be willing to be interrogated under Veritaserum? Weasley’s likely going to try to pin it on anyone but his little sister, and you are an unfortunate target.”

“Of course.”

“And you as well, Harry, as soon as the Healers clear you for Veritaserum use. Did they say how long you’ll be here?”

“Two days,” Draco answers for him. “At least. If the wormwood was improperly used, it’ll be longer.”

The Auror nods. “Alright. The interrogation will need to be held at the Ministry, and I would prefer to escort you myself, so if you could tell me when to return?”

“You could go now,” Harry says, smiling at Draco a little weakly. “I’m just going to sleep.” 

“Are you sure, love? I can go later.”

“No, it’s fine. Though… maybe some Calming Draught?”

“Of course.” Ignoring the Auror, Draco presses a light kiss to Harry’s knuckles, returning the smile he gets in return. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, love.”

The Calming Draught that Draco has Neston fetch has Harry relaxing back into the pillows with a murmured, “Love you.” 

Draco presses another kiss to his forehead, and then turns to Auror Daniels, who is politely staring at the door, though a bit flushed. 

“Shall we?” he asks. 

“Of course.”

The jaunt to the Ministry is quick. His wand is taken with a firm promise that it’ll be returned to him, and then he’s led down a hallway into a medium sized office. 

“Healer Malfoy,” Head Auror Robbards greets him. “I hear you’ve had an eventful morning.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Draco replies, with a tired smile. 

“This is Auror Frair.” A dark-skinned man that Draco vaguely recognized from a raid he’d participated in a month or so prior inclined his head. “And you’ve already met Auror Daniels.”

“Yes.”

“If you would take a seat?”

Draco does, and the Aurors settle in around the room. Robbards produces an innocuous, small vial from the drawer of the desk. “I understand you’ve experienced Veritaserum before?”

That is as polite a way of referencing Draco’s trial after the War as any, he supposes. “Yes, sir.”

“If you would drink the entire dose, then?”

Draco takes it and does, blinking as the potion hits his magical core. Lovely. 

“What is your full name?”

“Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy,” he’s compelled to say.

“Where are you employed?”

“St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and on an emergency basis for the Auror Department.” 

“Your current residence?”

“Number Twelve Grimmauld Place,” Draco says without pause. “And, less frequently, Malfoy Manor.” He rarely stays anywhere but Harry’s, these days, except when Grimmauld has visitors. If he didn’t have an entire wing to himself in the Manor, his parents would likely have given up on this arranged marriage nonsense months ago.

“You reside with Harry Potter?” One of Robbards’ eyebrows raises slightly.

“Yes.”

“Can you describe your relationship with Harry Potter?”

“He’s my fiancé,” Draco says, trying to keep the flush from his cheeks and failing. Robbards’ eyebrows definitely raise at that. 

“I see.” Robbards glances at Daniels and Frair. “Was Harry Potter dosed with a lust potion last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you administer this lust potion?”

“No.”

“Who administered this lust potion?”

“Ginny Weasley,” Draco says, and can’t quite keep the growl from his voice.

“How do you know this?”

“Harry told me.”

Robbards nods almost imperceptibly. “Did you have sexual relations with Harry Potter while he was under the influence of a lust potion?”

“Yes,” Draco is forced to say, and then squeezes his eyes shuts and forces, through gritted teeth, “Unintentionally.” 

“How was this done unintentionally?”

“I did not realize he was under the influence of a lust potion.” 

“When did you notice he was under the influence of a lust potion?”

“Immediately after.”

Looking like he really doesn’t want to ask the question, Robbards asks, “After what, Mr. Malfoy?”

Flushing red but unable to fight the compulsion of the Veritaserum, Draco answers. “After we’d had sex.”

The three Aurors are wearing rather stoic expressions, for which Draco is grateful. “When you realized he was under the influence of a lust potion, what did you do?”

“I, er,” Draco flushes again, “Incarcerused him to the bed to stop him following me.” He doesn’t think he’s imagining Robbards ears going red. “And then I went to St. Mungo’s, found an antidote and made Harry take it.” He could’ve gone on about the proposal and what they’d done after that, but Robbards’ question hadn’t been specific about how much he needed to say of what he did. 

“You took the antidote back to Grimmauld?”

“Yes.”

“When did you take Harry Potter to St. Mungo’s?”

“Immediately after my diagnostic registered that his magical core was deteriorating, at about 9 this morning.”

“Is this standard procedure for lust potion incidents?”

“No,” Draco winces a little.

“What is standard procedure for lust potion incidents?” Robbards sighs.

“The victim is taken to St. Mungo’s, the antidote is administered and then they are kept under diagnostic surveillance of a qualified Healer.”

“Are you a qualified Healer?”

“Yes.”

“So your actions are only different from procedure in that Harry Potter was not taken to St. Mungo’s?”

“Yes.”

“Should I ask why you didn’t take Harry Potter to St. Mungo’s?” Robbards sighs again.

The question is worded in such a way that Draco is not really compelled to answer, but he does anyways. “Harry didn’t want to go, sir. And I did as soon as it was medically necessary.”

Robbards snorts, shaking his head. “Thank you, Healer Malfoy. That’ll be all.” He pulls a second bottle of potion out of a different drawer in the desk. “This is the Veritaserum antidote. Drink the entire dose.”

Draco does. “Thank you, sir.”

“I apologize for the invasiveness of the questioning, but you understand the necessity. Daniels, if you could escort him back to St. Mungos?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Promote him so he’s less out in the field getting shot at with spells,” Robbards mutters as they leave, “and he _still_ manages to get in trouble. If Potter wasn’t such a bloody good Auror –”

“We’ll just need to get your wand back from the front desk,” Daniels says conversationally. 

“Of course,” Draco answers, a bit distractedly, trying to will the persistent flush from his cheeks.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Daniels tells him, with a quick smile. “I’ve had worse interrogations.”

Draco doesn’t have the heart to tell him that his post-War trial was much, much worse. “Will you be bringing Ginny Weasley in?”

“Already sent Aurors out to get her. We had probable cause even without your interrogation. The medical report had a time of dosage, and Harry was at the Weasleys during the time frame.” 

“But if you’ve already sent them to get her, won’t she be –”

Draco doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because Ginny Weasley, who had been just about to hand her wand over at the front desk, catches sight of him. 

“You!” She shrieks. “ _You’re_ the one he went to!” 

The hex she sends at him is wordless, violent, and a terrifying deep red. Draco has a mere second to realize just how defenseless he is, and then, as three disarming charms and a Stunner hit Ginny in the chest, and Daniels throws himself in front of him, someone roars, “ _Protego_!”

The shield charm erupts in front of him and Daniels with barely an inch of room to spare, and the hex ricochets into the ceiling, blasting a massive hole into the plaster and sending chunks raining down over their heads, thankfully protected by the bubble of the charm.

As the dust begins to settle, floating past the shield charm now that the spell decides it’s harmless, a white faced, red haired figure in the doorway says, “Finite.” The shield shimmers out. 

“Are you alright?” Daniels asks, reaching out to brush plaster dust from his hair. 

“Fine,” Draco affirms, if a bit shakily.

The Auror folds back upright, and glares at the Aurors that now hold an unconscious, disarmed Ginny Weasley. “When I find out who told Miss Weasley that Malfoy was involved, I’m going to have their job on a bloody stake!”

One of the Aurors goes incredibly white, and Draco almost pities him, or would, if he hadn’t just about been killed by a Blasting Curse. 

“Enervate,” one of the Aurors says, now that Ginny’s wand has been adequately stowed away, and her wrists Incarserused together. 

The redheaded female blinks awake, and her gaze falls on Draco again. 

“You! You fucking _snake_! Harry is _mine_! It would’ve worked! He would’ve gotten me pregnant, but you –”

“Silencio,” Daniels says, a bit tiredly. “That’s a confession. I’ve had enough. Take her away.” 

The Aurors drag the woman past them and over the rubble of the ceiling on the floor, oblivious to the silent insults spilling past her lips. 

“Let’s get your wand, Malfoy, and get you cleaned up.” His hand pushes gently at Draco’s shoulder, and he follows the pressure a bit dazedly, until he’s standing at the front desk.

The elderly witch behind it gives the ruined ceiling an angry look. “You do realize I have to clean that up, don’t you?”

“I’ll send someone from Maintenance in to do a good Reparo, Penny,” Daniels assures her. “Can we get Draco Malfoy’s wand returned to him?”

The witch makes a bit of a fuss, but Draco is relieved when his hawthorn wand is finally pressed back into his hand.

“It’s really true, then?” A voice says, as Daniels gently pushes him towards the exit. 

They both turn. Ronald Weasley is standing in the doorway, wand still held loosely in his hand. 

Auror Daniels gives him a careful look, almost imperceptibly shifting Draco behind himself. “Good Shield Charm, Weasley. I owe you one.”

Ron looks at his wand, then back. “My little sister. And Harry. She really gave Harry a lust potion?” 

“Looks like it,” Daniels says, still carefully watching the other Auror’s wand. 

“I can’t believe –” The redhead runs a hand through his hair. 

“Go home, Ron,” Daniels tells him, gently. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Yeah,” Ron says, almost under his breath, and then gives a short, mirthless laugh. “Yeah.” He moves out of the doorway, and Daniels takes the clear path as a sign, nudging Draco in that direction.

Draco stops just before they leave, turning back. “Weasley?”

“What?” Ron says, sounding tired.

“Thank you. For the Shield Charm. Thanks.”

The redhead gives him the tiniest of smiles, and Draco lets himself be nudged out of the Auror Department.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry is, thankfully, still fast asleep when he gets back to St. Mungo’s, despite Draco having stopped off at Grimmauld for a shower and a change of clothes. Gently running his thumb over the engagement ring on Harry’s finger, he leans back in the uncomfortable hospital chair. There’s so much he needs to do. Tell his parents about his engagement, for one, before they hear from someone else. At the rate today is going, it’ll make the Prophet’s front page. “Saviour to Marry Former Death Eater”, right next to “Weaselette Poisons the Chosen One,” or something to that effect. He needs to make sure the wards on Grimmauld keep out Ginny Weasley and probably anyone from the Weasley family for the time being. Needs to arrange to have his shifts covered for the next few days so he can monitor Harry. But right now all he wants is to hold his fiancé’s hand and forget about the fact that they’re in a hospital or that he nearly got hexed at least twice today. 

His diagnostic on Harry is a smooth green, his magical core back to normal, the Calming Draught having sent him into a deep, restful sleep. If he has his way, a diagnostic on Harry will always look like this – perfectly healthy. Focussing on the charm, he closes his eyes, exhausted, and, mimicking Harry’s steady breathing, lets himself fall asleep.

He’s woken several hours later by the room’s door opening. 

“Oh,” an unfamiliar voice says, and Draco turns to look, still groggy. The sight of red hair wakes him up rather quickly, but he relaxes when the figure seems non-threatening. That it’s a Weasley is obvious by the hair. One of the older ones, though. Not the nerdy one or the wolfy one. The handsome one. 

“Charlie,” the man says. 

“Draco,” he replies, out of automatic politeness. 

“Nice – means ‘dragon’, doesn’t it?”

Oh, right, the dragon-keeper Weasley. “Yes. If I know yours correctly, it means ‘free man.’”

Charlie barks out a laugh. “Does it really?”

“Yes,” Draco replies, charmed despite himself. 

“I’d ask how you know that, but I imagine it’s one of those proper pureblood things,” the redhead says, and pulls out his wand.

Draco tenses, but the man just conjures a chair and sits. 

“Will he be alright?” He gestures to Harry’s unconscious form.

“He’ll be fine,” Draco says, slipping into Healer mode without a thought. “The lust potion wasn’t properly made, but so far there’s only been symptoms of the valerian root being improperly measured. He’s been treated for that and now we’re just making sure nothing else was done wrong.” 

“Good. That’s good,” Charlie says, looking relieved. “I can’t believe Ginny –” He stops, and sighs. “Actually, yes, I can believe it. She’s never been used to not getting what she wants. Youngest and only girl.”

“That doesn’t excuse it,” Draco snaps, a bit harshly.

“No, I know,” Charlie assures him, glancing up with eyebrows raised. “I’m not trying to excuse her. Though everyone else is. Ron is a bit better. He apparently saw Ginny try to hex you?”

“Yes.”

Charlie grimaces. “Assault on top of illegal potion use and poisoning an Auror. Bloody hell, Ginny. George and Mum seem to be of the opinion that Harry wanted it –”

“What?!” Draco glares at him.

“I know, it’s stupid. Stop looking at me like that. Once they get a look at that engagement ring that’s going to be nipped right in the bud, but I’m just telling you what they think,” Charlie hurries, holding up his hands in surrender. Draco lowers the tone of his glare, and he continues, “Dad and Bill are on the fence.”

“And you?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Ginny’s always been spoiled, and it was obvious Harry wanted nothing to do with her. I was telling her and Mum to back off the morning before Ginny’s birthday party. Ginny obviously wasn’t listening.” 

“Obviously,” Draco snorts.

They both remain silent for a moment, watching Harry’s steady breathing.

“To be fair,” Charlie says, after a minute, “If we had known he was in a committed relationship, things would’ve turned out a lot different.”

Draco shuts his eyes against the guilt, and then stares at Harry’s engagement ring. “I know,” he grinds out. “But what ifs never changed anything.” 

Charlie nods, letting it go. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Over two years, now.” 

“Really?” Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Merlin, I didn’t know Harry was so good at keeping secrets.”

Draco decides not to tell him how long it took Harry to confess to him just how his Muggle relatives had treated him as a child. He’s pretty sure that was a secret for Harry’s whole bloody life. 

“It was mostly me,” he sighs. “Wasn’t ready to tell my parents that…well...”

“What changed?”

“They’re trying to set me up with the Greengrass girl,” Draco snorts. “I know who I want to spend the rest of my life with, and it’s definitely not bloody Astoria.”

Charlie smiles at him, and then stands up and claps him on the shoulder. “You’re alright, Malfoy.”

Draco blinks at him, a bit startled. 

“I can’t promise the rest of the family will be by – I hope they will, but god knows how stubborn a Weasley can be.”

“Don’t you want to wait for him to wake up?”

Charlie shrugs. “He’s in good hands.” He strolls off towards the door. “And, hey, Draco, makes sure you invite me to the wedding.” 

He’s gone before Draco can think of an appropriate response. 

A mediwizard, a young one, probably fresh out of Hogwarts, drops off a tray of food for him and Harry not long after Charlie leaves, and Draco casts a Warming Charm, not willing to eat until his lover wakes up. It doesn’t take long, not with the smell of food in the room, and green eyes blink up at him from beneath sleepy eyelids.

“Hello,” Draco smiles.

“Hi,” Harry replies, yawning. 

“How you feeling?”

“Surprisingly better. Don’t want to jump you at the moment.” He seems to rethink that. “Not quite true, but not to lust potion levels.”

“Good. Hungry?” He helps the brunet sit up and moves the hovering tray over his lap. 

“Have you been here all day?” Harry asks, picking up a fork.

“Most of it, went to the Ministry for the Veritaserum.” He decides not to mention the Blasting Curse. “Ginny’s been taken in for questioning.” 

Harry looks at him, mouth twisting downwards. “I still can’t believe she –”

“I know,” Draco replies, sighing. He might not like the Weasleys, but that doesn’t mean he wants Harry upset. They’re his family. “Charlie was by, though.”

“He was?” Draco’s nod earns him a smile, and then Harry looks down at his plate, seeming to catch sight of the ring on his finger. “Have you been to see your parents?” 

“Not yet,” the blond sighs. 

Harry raises his hand, ring glinting. “You know this is going to be all over tomorrow’s Prophet, what with today.”

“I know. I just – I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I’m not a child, Draco.”

“Just because you’re not a child doesn’t mean you have to be alone, Potter,” Draco snaps, and then sighs. “I know. I’ll go after we eat.”

“Promise? I know you’ll regret it if they find out from the Prophet, love.”

“Promise,” Draco agrees. They eat in silence for a moment, and then Harry reaches out and catches his hand. 

“If it’s… if you don’t want this, Draco, we can still call it off. Say it was a mistake.”

“What? No!” Draco stares at him. “It is most definitely not a mistake.”

Harry draws back, looks away. “You just looked like – never mind.”

Draco catches his hand before he can pull away entirely. “No, what it is it?”

“You looked like you regretted it,” Harry muttered, not quite able to meet his eyes.

The blond pulls his hand forward, presses a kiss against the ring there. “This,” he says, with feeling, “is not a mistake, and I do not regret it, Harry. If anything, I regret not doing it _sooner_ , so that Ginevra would know you were mine. But I do not regret this. I love you.”

Harry looks at him, eyes bright and impossibly green. “I love you. And what Ginny did, Draco, it wasn’t your fault.” 

“If I’d just –”

“No,” Harry barks, and it’s his Auror voice. “It’s _not_ your fault, Draco. I will not have you feeling guilty over it. And not about the sex either. I remember what you said, after, about it being practically rape. That wasn’t rape. I felt just as loved as I always do when I’m with you. I just felt a bloody lot more horny than I normally do. So stop it. It’s not your fault. It’s Ginny’s.”

“Harry –”

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it wasn’t your fault.”

Draco stares at him, and then sighs. “It wasn’t my fault.” 

“Good,” Harry says, fiercely. “Don’t make me make you say it again.”

Draco laughs. “Yes, dear.”

A smile curves Harry’s lips. “Now eat, you git, so you can go tell your parents you’re marrying me.”

“I am suddenly not very hungry,” the blond mutters, but he’s mostly joking.

Harry smiles a little wider. “Eat.”

Draco does.


	4. Chapter 4

**Six Months Later**

Harry stares at the pile of envelopes sitting on the kitchen table and sighs. Since the lust potion incident and the subsequent headlines about his and Draco’s engagement, excessive mail has been a staple of Grimmauld Place life. Even with the spells in place to keep out the dangerous or hexed mail and the Howlers, they still get three times that in congratulations and less dangerous hate mail. Mostly hate mail. It’s enough to make Harry want to kill every owl in existence. 

The congratulations aren’t bad, though. There’s a surprising amount of gay and lesbian witches and wizards and just generally nice people, to the point that the mantelpiece has had to be expanded twice to hold them all. 

He casts the spell Hermione gave him that separates the mail by scanning the wording for nice words and not so nice words, and dumps the not so nice pile – always the bigger one – into the bin.

Draco’s off with his mother doing something wedding related. Narcissa has been one of the most supportive people in their lives since he’d gotten out of St. Mungo’s, next to Hermione. Of course, there’d been the original scolding about not telling her that he was seeing someone, and then the scolding about grandchildren, but that had dropped off sometime after a collection of literature on male pregnancy and surrogates had shown up on their coffee table and Narcissa had seen it. Harry suspected Hermione’s involvement. And Lucius had apparently been threatened sufficiently by Narcissa in order to accept the entire thing.

And ‘Mione, he hadn’t expected ‘Mione to be as supportive as she has been.

To be fair, she had slapped him when she’d found out, but given the fiasco with Ginny and the fact that Draco actually went out of his way to apologize and be nice to her, she’d gotten over it. He’d left them alone for five minutes to go to the bathroom one day, and when he’d come back, they’d been having some incomprehensible discussion about ritual Arithmancy, and apparently that was that. 

Ron has come around, though not as much. The Council of Magical Law had found Ginny a resounding ‘Guilty’, and sentenced her to house arrest, community service, and put severe restrictions on her wand use. Despite it, Charlie, Bill, and Mr. Weasley are actually quite supportive, and even Percy has come by the Auror Department to tell Harry that he was ‘on the side of the victim, not the criminal,’ which was nice. Weird, but nice. George had ended up being one of the most supportive, bizarre as it was. He’d taken Ginny’s sentencing rather hard, but then he’d showed up on Harry’s doorstep, hit him with about ten different WWW pranks, and invited him for dinner with him and Angelina. Sunday lunches and invitations to Weasley birthday parties are a thing of the past, as Molly’s not talking to him, but Harry finds he doesn’t mind it much when he has Draco, as well as Narcissa, Hermione, Teddy, Andromeda, Charlie, Luna, Neville, Seamus, Dean and all the other friends that he’d nearly forgotten he has. There are a surprising number of very welcome people invited to their wedding. He’s happy. Much happier than he had been when Draco and him had been a secret. 

He picks up one of the ‘nice’ envelopes on the table and braces himself. The spell works the majority of the time, but a lot of people can apparently say very cutting things without ever using words harsh enough for the spell to catch. He slits it open, and is glad when it’s actually a postcard from Luna, who’s somewhere in the Amazon and talking about some kind of creature with a name he can’t pronounce in the slightest. At least he thinks it’s a creature. It might also be some form of village? 

The wards suddenly signal that Draco has returned, and Harry glances up as the front door opens, revealing his fiancé carrying a rather alarming number of shopping bags. 

“Hey,” Draco smiles, and sets the bags down so he can pull off his gloves, before leaning down to press a kiss to Harry’s lips. 

“What’d you all buy?” Harry asks.

“Mmm,” the blond mutters, kissing him again. “You’ll find out on our wedding night.”

“What?” Harry manages. “All that?”

“I may have gotten a bit carried away. You’ll find out on our honeymoon, at any rate.” He laces their fingers together, pressing Harry back down when he tries to get up.

“I want to see.”

“It’s a surprise.” 

“I don’t want a surprise. I want you, right now.”

“You can have me without the surprise,” Draco points out.

“Maybe I don’t want you without the surprise.”

Draco grins at him. “Liar.” 

Harry kisses him, pulls him down into his lap. “You caught me.”

“Yes. Yes I have. And I get to keep you. Forever.” 

“Always,” Harry breathes against his lips. 

“You’re such a sap,” Draco laughs, and then proceeds to recreate the night six months prior. _Without_ the lust potion this time. 

**The End**


End file.
